


she's thunderstorms

by sambru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Musician Semi Eita, drummer reader, musician reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambru/pseuds/sambru
Summary: "she's been loop-the-looping, around my mindher motorcycle boots give me this kind ofacrobatic blood, concertinacheating heartbeat, rapid fireshe's thunderstorms,lying on her frontup against the wallshe's thunderstorms"(quoted from the song by the arctic monkeys. yes very original)
Relationships: Semi Eita & Shirabu Kenjirou, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori, Semi Eita & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	she's thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley/gifts), [you know who you are](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=you+know+who+you+are).



> uhhhh drummer/musician reader?? idk man i took music writing classes, i kinda sorta know what i'm talking about. i think. also i made an impromptu semi playlist, with a lot of songs that give me the semi vibe or how i want him to come off in this fic. it's called "jamming with semisemi" and my spotify is the same as my ao3 user. ((you'll also find many more funky playlists that i have made. they are kinda cringe though i'll spare you the details))

As per usual, the bell sounds, signaling the end of lunch period. I look up and watch as others around me pick up their bags, discard any trash they trash they happened to create while eating, and begin to shuffle out of the large, soon-to-be-empty cafeteria. Next to me, a short girl slings her bookbag over her shoulder, grabs her phone with one hand, and nudges my shoulder with the other.

“C’mon, (y/n)-chan, don’t wanna be late for electives, right?” Nanako said, a small smile on her face. 

“I mean, I don’t  _ want _ to miss it, but goddamn I’m tired. Sleep sounds so much better than music theory right now.” I reply, letting out a dramatic sigh. Nanako nudges my shoulder again, this time with a bit more force. If I  _ really _ wanted to be dramatic, I could call it a gentle punch. 

“Well, you did get to pick it after all. And I thought you liked music! Anyways, hurry your ass up; it won’t be much longer until the bell rings, and my classroom isn’t very close in the slightest. I don’t  _ have _ to wait for you, y’know.” Nanako teases.

“Fine, fine, let’s go, Nanako-chan.” I huff in return.

I haphazardly shove all my stuff into my bag, jam my earbuds into my ears, press ‘shuffle’ on my go-to playlist, throw my phone into my pocket, and walk out the cafeteria door, following Nanako. In one corridor, we have to part ways; so I must navigate my way to the music room through the crowded hallways alone. It’s only the fifth week of the school year-- my first year, at that. So it’s not surprising that I’m absolutely terrified for my life when I begin to notice a group of horribly rowdy high school boys, screaming and shoving each other down the hall. In doing so, they manage to create a domino effect-- one of them knocks against a poor, unsuspecting student, who, in return, accidentally knocks into me. The downside is that I’m standing on outer ends of the hallway, so I end up getting crammed against a wall for a moment. 

When I notice that the other victim is still pressed against me, I’m about to turn around and start telling them off. But when I turn around, I see the panicked face of a boy who looks like he’s my age. He begins apologizing profusely, and I almost feel bad for him. However, he’s still pressing me against a wall, so I reach up and give him a nice little smack on the side of his head, making sure to mess up the spiky grey hair with darker tips that stick out of his head. He goes blank, making the most bewildered expression, his dark brown eyes following me as I walk off to class. 

_ That was a little amusing,  _ I think to myself, swinging open the door to the music room and settling down in my chair. The room is small, but there aren’t many students to occupy it, so it’s not so bad. Many other students would rather be in photography classes, or physical education. Plenty of people like to pick up a guitar or ukulele and learn a few chords, maybe a song or two, but they get bored after a while. They don’t want to actually learn all the technical aspects of music, like reading sheet music, or whatever the fuck a key signature is, and can I blame them? Of course not. That shit’s got to be excruciatingly painful to learn if you actually have no interest in learning it, but I guess I’m one of those few people that actually wants to learn about it. So here I am. 

Damn, I should really stop zoning out in this class. That might explain why I’m a little lost on our current topic. Fortunately, I’m snapped out of my state of spacing out when the painfully loud classroom door swings open, and in steps a boy. No, no,  _ the _ boy. The one who knocked into me in the hallway. He doesn’t look so panicked, more just a slight hint of embarrassment when he realizes every eye in the classroom is on him. He’s late. 

“So sorry for interrupting, but I switched into this elective instead of my previous one. I got a little lost on the way.” He says, his tone a little sheepish. 

“Yes, yes, I heard that a student would be switching into this class. You’re…” The teacher, Mr. Shinoda, trails off, struggling to remember the name of the first-year. 

“Semi Eita.” The boy, or Semi, clears his throat, running a hand through his messy hair.  _ The hair that I fucked up.  _ I smile a little to myself, without even realizing it.  _ Wait, what? It was just a little funny. Amusing. Nothing else to it.  _

“Right,” Mr. Shinoda says, “You can sit wherever there’s an open seat.” He allows Semi to find somewhere to settle down. As the boy wanders around, looking for a good spot, we make eye contact.  _ Shit. _ His eyes dart to the empty seat behind me, and he walks over and tosses his bag on the desk. Semi slumps down into the chair before leaning over.

“Sorry about before. Again.”

“Don’t mention it.” I say through gritted teeth.  _ Am I supposed to be mad at him? Wait, no. It wasn’t his fault or anything. And he’s apologized more times than I can count.  _ Still, I find myself taking the “whatever. I totally don’t care, definitely not defensive” route.  _ The hell is wrong with me?  _ I shake my head in a miserable attempt to shake off whatever’s making me feel like this. 

“One more thing,” The teacher clears his throat, “This class is the type of class where you need to use what you learned in the past. Almost like math, in a sense. So, Eita-san, if you need to stay after school to catch up on older topics, please let me know.” 

“Umm, I hope this doesn’t come off the wrong way, Shinoda-sensei, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” Semi says, subconsciously messing with his hair.  _ Well somebody’s a little self-assured, _ I think to myself. I face the whiteboard, now attempting to focus on what was being taught.

“As I was saying, this is going to be a half diminished seventh chord. This time, the number of semitones from each note will be three, three, then four. Let’s look at this example, with the root note being an A flat. From here, you…”

I start to zone out again, completely tuning out everything that Mr. Shinoda is saying. Just staring off at the whiteboard. However, I suddenly snap out of my trance when I realize that he’s now facing my direction.  _ Shitshitshit he’s gonna call on me I have no idea what anything-- _

“Eita-san, if you have any questions, please wait until I can speak to you after school. We don’t need to hold up the rest of the class because you showed up late.” The teacher’s tone is enough to make me want to actually die if he were speaking to me, but he’s not. Poor Semi.

“A-Actually, Shinoda-sensei, my only question is; this is meant to be a half diminished seventh, right? You, uhh, you wrote an E flat.”

The room goes silent. The class looks at the whiteboard, where the staff and notes are neatly drawn.

“It should be an E double flat, since its enharmonic is a D natural. You wrote an A flat minor seventh, because now it’s three-four-three.”

Again, silence fills the room.  _ Guess it wasn’t just cockiness, this kid really knows his shit. _

Mr. Shinoda clears his throat again, moving back towards the whiteboard to correct his mistake. “Thank you, Eita-san. I suppose we don’t have to worry about catching you up with us anymore.” He tries to let out a lighthearted chuckle, but it really just turns into embarrassed laughter. He tries to move on quickly from that; there’s nothing quite like getting corrected by the first year kid who’s only been sitting in the classroom for maybe five minutes. 

I find myself beginning to warm up to this guy. At first he seemed like a bit of an asshole, but the teacher did make a mistake that ultimately changed the outcome of the entire chord he wrote, so I’d say it was justified. Besides, he needed to have some way of “proving himself” to Mr. Shinoda, or else the teacher would go the entire unit thinking that Semi had no fucking clue what was going on. 

More and more, I begin talking to Semi. He’s much less nervous than when we had our first encounter, and he’s now showing his true colors; a bit stern, a hint of playful competitiveness, but he’s a lot more kind and warm to those he gets closer with. 

And more importantly, he knows a hell of a lot more than I do when it comes to music theory. 

  
  



End file.
